


Not So Glad Rags

by helsinkibaby



Series: Inside the Tornado [17]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Hartsfield's Landing" Ainsley gets ready for a date. Seventeenth in the Inside the Tornado series</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Glad Rags

I have to run to answer my phone, and considering that I'm tying the tie on my robe, whilst simultaneously making sure that my hair doesn't fall down from the towel in which it is twisted up, I think it's a miracle that I get there before the last ring without breaking my neck. "Hello?" I say breathlessly into the phone, wondering who on earth is calling me now. After all, I do have a date to get ready for, and I don't have time to gossip on the phone.

"Hey Ainse, it's me." The voice of my old college roommate floats down the line, and I feel myself smiling. "Is there a particular reason that you're answering the phone all breathless, or shouldn't I ask?"

I laugh, dropping down on to the couch. "Get your mind out of the gutter Cass," I tell her imperiously. "You know me better than that." Because she knows damn well that I don't sleep with a guy on the first date, never have.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Cassie drawls. "How was the date?"

There's an unmistakable edge in her voice, and I shift uncomfortably. After all, Cassie almost had a stroke when I told her that Sam Seaborn had asked me to accompany him to the theatre, and that I'd said yes. She and I had gone to the Federalist Society shindig last Friday night; with her dragging me along, kicking and screaming, I might add. At least it gave me a chance to wear that fabulous dress that I bought at Thanksgiving. I wasn't going to, but Cassie pulled it out of my closet, pronounced it perfect, and demanded that I wear it. Of course, when she held it up to me, I remembered buying it. Remembered bringing it home. Remembered trying it on for Leo, and what that led to. Which ended up with me in tears again, and Cassie breaking out the ice cream to try to console me.

Considering the amount of junk food I've consumed since breaking up with that man, I'm surprised that the dress still fit me. Guess there's something to be said for having a fast metabolism.

Being as I'm an Associate White House Counsel, I don’t go anywhere without my pager, not even to the Federalist Society Dinner, and I was almost relieved when it went off. When I saw Sam's number on it, when Ginger told me that he wanted me to come in, I had a cast-iron excuse to take my leave of the event, although given time, and a couple more Pink Squirrels, I would have probably enjoyed myself. As it was though, I left the party, got myself a cab quicker than I would have thought possible, and off I went to the West Wing.

Not that I went straight in there mind you. I had to take a couple of deep breaths to psyche myself up to walk down those halls, knowing full well that Leo was there and that there was a chance that I might see him. But all went well as I made my way to the Communications bullpen, although I did get stopped by a couple of people who wanted to know why I was so dressed up.

As luck would have it, Sam was the first person that I saw when I walked into the bullpen. He was leaning on a desk, talking to Toby, and then he looked across and looked right at me. Let's just say that I noticed a certain amount of appreciation in his eyes, and leave it at that, shall we? Although, perhaps not, because I don't know if it was the look in his eyes, or the Pink Squirrel that I had consumed (although I'm surely not that much of a lightweight) but I did put an extra little sashay in my step as I walked towards him.

"Hayes, you could make a good dog break his leash," were his exact words.

I wanted to tell him that I knew that, but the look on his face was too much like the look that had been on Leo's for comfort, so I stuck to our usual pattern of banter, wanting to know what was going on and what he wanted me in here on a Friday night for.

I don't know why I dropped the wrap. It's not like I wanted him to see the back of the dress or anything.

Really.

I spent a lot of time with Sam that night, trying to get him to see the problem with the language, but he was all het-up over some woman thinking that he was a sexist, based on what he said to me, which is so ridiculous I can't even begin to talk about it. Sam is what my Gramma would call an old-school gentleman, and I know full well that all he was doing was complimenting me. I didn't feel demeaned, far from it. Which is what I told Celia when I encountered her in the bullpen later on.

I didn't miss the fact that what I was saying to her was something along the same lines as what I'd said to Leo months earlier. I've had people tease me, and I've had people ignore me, and there's no question in my mind which I'd rather have happen. I know what it feels like to be mocked and demeaned and I know what the opposite feels like too, and I know what side of the spectrum Sam was coming down on. He was showing me that he liked me, that he thinks I'm part of the team. I'm a Republican in a solidly Democratic White House, and while I make a show of not caring, feeling like I fit in is nice.

I got a little bit carried away though, I will admit that. Announcing to all and sundry that I like sex, at full voice in the middle of the bullpen is not something Gramma's etiquette lessons ever took into account. But then, I've been doing a lot of things that Gramma never counted on me doing since I began working here.

Falling in love with a man old enough to be my father for one thing.

Letting him break my heart for another.

Anyway, after all that defending of Sam's virtue, not to mention the writing of the UN speech, I was hungry, and felt like I deserved a cupcake. So off I went to the mess. I was lost in thought, still thinking about the language for the speech, and when I turned around, I just wanted to fade away into the ground.

Leo was sitting at one of the tables and he was looking right at me.

The conversation was horrible, so, so awkward. Not once, not even the first time that we met, have we been that awkward around one another, and the first time that we met, I was terrified. Of course, that might have loosened my tongue somewhat. By the time that he first came down to my office that night that he was looking for a report that Sam and I had been working on, certainly by the first time we went out for dessert, we'd become comfortable with each other. I wouldn't have said we were friends exactly, but certainly we could talk easily in one another's company.

And then we became more than friends, and there was nothing that I couldn't talk to him about. He knew me inside and out.

Yet there he was, close enough to me that in a couple of steps I could be in his arms and we could barely string a sentence together.

It was horrible.

If the look on his face was anything to go by, he sensed it too, and made an exit, looking, I must admit, as bad as I felt. After that little escapade, I not only needed a cupcake, which I'd found, I also needed a cup of coffee, and I got myself one, hands shaking. I made my way over to a chair and was sitting down, carefully peeling the casing off the cupcake, hoping that my hands would soon stop shaking, when Sam came in.

He was one of the last people that I wanted to see, because I wasn't up for another round of "Sam, you're really not a sexist." But he couldn't hear my silent thoughts and sat down beside me. "I thought you were going to write up the thing," I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

"I am. I will," he said. "I just wanted to see that you were ok, is all."

I arched an eyebrow. "Did I not look like I was all right in the bullpen?" I asked him, and he looked taken aback at that.

"No, no, not at all. In fact, I was rather impressed by the way that you stuck up for yourself with Celia. And also, you know, defended me. It was quite impressive."

"That I stood up for myself or that I defended you?" I asked him, because that was the expected response, or something like it, to a comment like that from Sam. See, I told myself, you're not that broken up over Leo, he hasn't affected you that much. You can still banter with Sam, you're fine.

"Both," he admitted, smiling sheepishly. "So look, here's the thing…"

"Sam, how many times do I have to say this to you?" I asked, exasperated. "Twenty five per cent on the assessments for Category A."

"No," he chuckled, and he looked almost nervous. "That's not what I was going to ask you about."

"Sam, I've told you I don't know how many times, I wasn't insulted, you're not a sexist, and there really is nothing more to say."

"That wasn't it either." He was laughing now, while I was frowning. "Are you going to let me finish?"

"OK. Shoot."

He paused for a few seconds before he spoke, as if he was waiting to see if I was going to break in again. "Here's the thing. I have tickets for the theatre next Friday night. And I was wondering if you would like to go. With me."

I blinked, because honest to God, that was the last thing that I expected him to say. "Sam Seaborn," I murmured, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. "Are you asking me out?" It was as much an honest expression of amazement as a way of buying myself time, because I wanted to be quite sure I understood what was going on here.

He waggled his head from side to side, as if framing his response. "I am inquiring," he said carefully. "If you would be interested in donning a lovely dress, and accompanying me, next Friday night, to a play which has garnered rave reviews. There would, of course, be dinner before, and possibly dessert, if you were so inclined, and I, of course, would be a perfect gentleman at all times." He took a breath. "So…what do you say?"

I knew at the time that I should say no. I'd only just broken up with Leo, my heart was still shattered into a million pieces, and the last thing I should be thinking about doing was going out on a date with someone else, even if that someone is just a friend.

I opened my mouth to say no.

The fact that yes came out was quite a surprise.

He beamed, the effect of which was to make him look five years younger and several pounds lighter, and made his excuses, heading back upstairs to write up the notes that I'd given him. He moved as if he was walking on air. I, on the other hand, could hardly stomach the remainder of my cupcake, the crumbly chocolate tasting like ashes in my mouth, unable to believe what I'd done.

I told Cassie the next morning, and she shrieked loud enough to make herself wince, hungover as she was. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was making a huge mistake, that the last thing I needed to do to get over one Democratic office romance was to enter into another, and I had to admit that she had a point there. Except that it was Sam, and he was sweet, and kind and caring, and he'd never make me do anything that I wouldn't want to do, and there was no harm in going out with him, just as friends. I'd managed to convince myself of that sometime in my tossing and turning the night before, sleep being hard to come by. There was nothing wrong with going out with Sam; after all, we're friends, that's what friends do, isn't it?

I've been telling myself that all week, and there were times when I even believed it.

Cassie shook her head, giving me that look she gives me when she knows that she's not going to talk me out of something, even if she thinks I'm making a huge mistake. "I hope you know what you're doing," was all she said, heading for my coffee machine.

"So do I," I murmured, but she didn't hear me. She wasn't meant to.

"Come on Ainse," she tells me now. "Tell Aunt Cassie all about it."

"There's nothing to tell," I told her honestly. "He had to cancel."

"He had to cancel?" She sounds surprised. "To do what?"

I smile, recalling Sam's dejection when he called me last night. "Play chess with the President."

There's a long silence on the other end of the phone. "Gee, you'd think he could've come up with something more original than that," she quips eventually, the pause before it in and of itself an event. Cassie's never speechless. "So, is it all off?"

"Nope," I say. "In fact, I'm just out of the shower. We're going out for dinner tonight."

"I should let you go and get ready then." The tone of her voice is just what it would be if she were sending me off to war.

"Yeah." Even I can hear the marked lack of enthusiasm in my own voice, and I'm pretty sure that Cassie didn't miss it.

"Ainse, I told you, you don't have to do this," she said quietly. "If you changed your mind, that's ok."

"I'm going out with Sam tonight," I tell her firmly.

Cassie mutters something that I don't quite get, but it was something to do with damnable Southern pride. "Ainsley," she continues, "The last time you talked about something with that much enthusiasm, it was root canal."

"It's not like that Cass," I sigh. "Sam's a nice guy." He's a nice guy and he's my friend, and there's no reason that this has to be about anything more than that.

Even if the way that he was looking at me that night tells me that he wants more than that.

"So ask yourself this…are you being fair to him?"

There's more truth to Cassie's words than I can stand right now, and I sigh, glancing over at the clock. "I have to go Cass," I find myself saying. "I have to get ready."

"Call me tomorrow," she tells me, before she hangs up.

I can't get the words that she said out of my head, even as I go about getting ready for my date with Sam. When I'm drying my hair, the whine of the dryer turns into Sam's voice, apologising six ways to Sunday for standing me up. No matter that I told him he didn't stand me up; he did, in fact, give me notice, and that having to play chess with the President was a pretty good excuse in anyone's book. He was still apologising when I told him he could make it up to me by taking me out tonight, skipping last night because I knew he'd want to wait with the rest of the Senior Staff for the results of the New Hampshire primary. He told me that wild horses wouldn't keep him away, and I could imagine him standing there in his office, see the hopeful smile on his face as he talked to me. He told me that he'd see me tonight, and even called me today to make sure that we were still on.

He really is a nice guy, I know that.

But as I shut off the hair dryer, I realise the problem. That he's not the nice guy that I want.

Which is what Cass was accusing me of doing; getting over one Democrat in the arms of another. I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, but she was right. Because much as I might want to be, I'm not over Leo. I'm not even close to being over Leo.

I fell in love with him. Totally, completely, head over heels. He was the first guy since Simon that I'd been serious about, but even then, what I had with him was more than I ever had with Simon. When Simon left me, I was devastated, yes. And I cried, and I ate junk food, and I went out and partied with Cassie for one wild weekend, but I got over it. I got over him.

I don't know if I could ever get over Leo, and it's certainly not something that I can see happening any time soon. Every time I see him around the White House, it's like a knife twists inside because I want so much to talk to him the way we used to, to have him hold me. I want to go up to him and tell him that everything can be the way that it was, but I can't.

I don't know if things could ever be the way that they were.

But maybe, just maybe they could be better.

Maybe knowing what we could have, knowing what we did have and came so close to losing, maybe knowing all that, we could do it better the second time around.

Maybe we couldn't.

I push the thoughts of my mind, because that's not a road that I can go down, whether I want to or not. I pushed him away, I told him to leave. And even though I know he'd come back to me in an instant, I will not let him hurt me like that again.

No matter how much it hurts right now, it's better now than later.

I've made my choice.

Tonight, I'm going out with Sam Seaborn. I am going to have a good time and I'm not going to think about Leo.

I pack away the hairdryer, storing it neatly in its box, mentally doing the same with my doubts and concerns about Leo and Sam, pushing them out of the way so that I can concentrate on getting dressed. I'm running short on time, thanks to that phone call, and I thank my lucky stars that I've picked out what I'm going to wear already. It's a pretty simple dress, long, sleeveless, and scarlet. And, I must just point out here, unlike the last long dress Sam saw me in, it does have a back.

It's hanging up on my closet door now and as I look at it, the thought comes to me that Leo always did like me in red, which causes tears to come to my eyes. I ruthlessly battle them back, because the last thing that I need is to have a pair of red eyes during my date with Sam. Accessorising is one thing, but my eyes shouldn't match my dress. I brush out my hair, so that it falls in a curtain down my back, considering putting it up, deciding to leave it down.

Leo always liked my hair down.

I wrench open my underwear drawer, looking for something appropriate for under the dress, and that's good for another round of tears. For crumpled up in a ball in the corner, there's a mass of grey material, and I know all too well what it is. I should leave it there. I should have thrown it out long ago, but my traitorous hand reaches out and pulls it out, shaking it open. The faded Bartlet for America logo stares out at me, and I remember all the times that I slept in his arms in this T-shirt, all the times that he saw me wearing it around the house, and got this huge smile on his face. The sight of his Republican girlfriend running around in a Democratic T-shirt always made him chuckle. I wonder if he ever knew that that's why I did it?

"Oh Leo," I whisper. "How did we get here?"

There's no answer in my apartment, and a quick look at the clock tells me that I'm running out of time. Sam's going to be here in another fifteen minutes, and I'm not dressed at all. Plus, this is Sam, so there's no hope of him being late. Pushing back the tears, I apply my make-up in record time, shoving the T-shirt into the back of the drawer, grabbing something from it, and getting dressed. Another brush of my hair and I'm good to go. I stand in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, ensuring myself that I look good. And I do look good, I know that I do.

I'd look better if I was smiling. If I could get that heartbroken look out of my eyes.

"Smile," I tell my reflection, but she's not listening to me.

This is not doing me any good at all. I am going out with Sam Seaborn. There is going to be dinner, there is going to be witty banter, there is going to be laughter, and I am going to enjoy myself.

Even if it kills me.

Leo lied to me. He went out on a date with another woman. He would have done more than just have dinner with her. He told me that he was attracted to her.

He hurt me.

I will not give him the chance to do that again.

With an impatient sigh I go over to my closet and look for a coat. I'm not sure where Sam's taking me, but I'm all dressed up, so I think this is one of those times when my best black coat gets an airing. I hardly ever wear it, so it's right at the back of my closet, and one look at it sends me reaching for the clothes brush, removing all traces of dust and long blonde hairs from it. Once that's done, I check the pockets out of reflex, because there's nothing worse than reaching in there when you're with company and coming out with an old scruffy tissue or piece of paper or something.

My hand reaches in to the right pocket and closes over something, but it's not soft enough to be a tissue, and I don't remember making any notes the last time I was wearing this coat. Come to think of it, when was the last time I wore this coat?

Frowning, I pull out a crumpled piece of paper and smooth it out. When I see what it is, my frown deepens, because I have no clue how this got in there.

Then it all comes back to me.

I stare at it for a long moment, my breath catching in my throat, and then a sob erupts from somewhere deep inside me, followed by another, and then another. My coat drops unnoticed to the floor as I cover my face with my hands, heedless of my makeup, and sink on to the bed.

That's when the doorbell rings.


End file.
